


Not my tempo

by medjackjeff (zephyr_lynx)



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/M, M/M, band au, rated T for the mention of blood I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyr_lynx/pseuds/medjackjeff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Band AU in which Minho overworks himself, Gally becomes exasperated with their greenie bassist, Teresa and Aris only want to enjoy the concert, Winston and Jeff are too perceptive for their own good and everybody is in on the betting pool on when Minho and Newt are getting together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not my tempo

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this AU is hugely inspired by the movie Whiplash, which everybody should at least see once, as is the title.   
> There are mentions of blood and injury, and a few swears, which is why I rated this T, but it's nothing really graphic.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened to the last bassist?” 

Gally’s tone was final. “No. Start again at measure seventeen.” 

“Come on, Gally! He ended up in hospital! What happened??” 

“What about ‘measure seventeen’ don’t you understand?” his opponent asked dryly.

Thomas wanted to reply, but the two of them looked up as Newt opened the door and walked in.

“Newt, will you tell me why Ben’s in hospital? Did he break his arm?” 

Gally groaned loudly in frustration. 

“Did _Gally_ break his arm?” Thomas pitched. 

“GREENIE, SHUT UP! You’re here to play bass! Why aren’t you playing bass?” he snapped. 

“Because I know that piece by fucking heart!” Thomas snarled at him. 

Newt raised an eyebrow at their fight. “Band members getting along great, I see.” 

“Shut up!” Gally and Thomas told him at the same time. 

“Doesn’t that contradict the whole purpose of him being your lead singer?” 

Winston had slipped into the room unnoticed, carrying a heavy amplifier. He grinned sleekly as he put it down next to Gally’s guitar. 

“Band members only. You have no say in that.” Gally said, but his words weren’t sharp. Winston was one of the roadies who’d been with them since the beginning, and one of his closest friends. 

Winston looked through the room for a certain cable. “Well, aren’t you missing a quarter of said band to call this an official band meeting and ban me from this room?” 

Newt grinned. “He’s right.” 

“Maybe the newbie’s bass playing will make you run. Would you now resume that fucking measure seventeen?”

“If my bass playing would make people run, you wouldn’t have hired me.” Thomas said, quite truthfully. 

Gally looked exasperated. Or on the verge of smashing his guitar on Thomas’ head. It was hard to tell. “Measure. Seventeen.” 

Newt and Winston exchanged an impressed glance. This was going to be an interesting combination. 

To their surprise, Thomas gave in with a smile and plucked the strings. “Care to join in?” 

Gally rolled his eyes – “Finally!” – but played the first chord on his guitar. 

Newt and Winston listened a while to them, and when they’d finished, the roadie clapped. “It’s comin’ along, huh?” 

“Now. Was that so hard?” Gally said with a deadpan glance at Thomas. 

Their newest band member smiled broadly, which resulted in another eye-roll by the guitarist. 

“Again.” Gally demanded. “Faster.”

Winston and Newt sat down on the amplifier and listened. The song sounded messy, without the drums, Gally and Thomas being sometimes in perfect sync and sometimes way out of tempo. 

Somehow, it still sounded good, and Winston chuckled about how completely into the song Gally was. It was hilarious paired with Thomas’ distress to follow him. 

The last bass tone had just faded away as the door was opened yet again, and another roadie walked in.

“Doesn’t anyone get the idea that we’re trying to rehearse?” Gally said, almost annoyed.

Jeff grinned. “No, not really. You don’t, either, since your drummer is missing.”

“…probably true. Just bringing the newbie up to date, actually. Before the show tonight.” 

“I have a name, you know?” Thomas said.

“We all know that, Tommy.” Newt smiled. 

‘Tommy’ was not amused. “Seriously?” 

Gally raised his eyebrows. “Why not?” 

“What are you even doing here? Looking for something?” Newt asked Jeff, while Thomas threatened Gally with a few really disgusting propositions as to where he could stack his head (mainly orifices on his own body) if he didn’t stop with the nicknames. 

“Actually, I do. Do you happen to know where my bandages and band-aids are? I swear I packed them, but I can’t find them for shit.” 

Jeff had started out as yet another of their roadies, but quickly gained a special position for being the one the whole crew went to if they’d suffered a small injury, had caught a little cold, or were simply looking for aspirin. Winston was especially skilled in letting anything fall on his feet, scratch his elbows or knees or cut himself on the most impossible things, like fucking tree leaves or credit cards. How, nobody knew. As for the why, it probably had something to do with Jeff’s beautiful brown eyes, but that was just a theory…

Anyways, Gally and Thomas exchanged a clueless glance while Winston shrugged. How were they supposed to know where he’d misplaced his equipment? 

Newt, however, looked like a light had dawned upon him. Or rather a Super Trouper. He furrowed his brows and muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear: “Minho.” 

He practically jumped up from the amplifier he’d been sharing with Winston and stalked out of the room, fast-paced, knowing exactly where he was going. Not that the others understood.

“Where are you going?” Gally yelled after him. 

“Looking after the bloody plasters!” 

“What the hell?” 

But Newt was out of hearing distance. 

Thomas was confused, to say the least. “What was that?” 

“Something in Newt’s crazy brain made some unknown connection between the band-aids and Minho. Sadly, we have no idea what kind of connection it is or what he means.” Jeff let himself fall onto the floor and decided to squad with them. 

“But…the hell?” Thomas said. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to that. Happens all the time. They tend to forget not everybody can read them the way they do with each other.” Winston said lapidary. 

“Do you think I can put another twenty dollars into the betting pool?” Jeff asked. 

Gally huffed. “You can’t be _that_ optimistic.” 

“How much do you want to bet it’ll happen today?” 

Thomas had definitely lost the thread. “What the fuck are you talking about now?” 

The three other men shared a look. 

“You think he’s ready for this?” 

Gally nodded. “He is.” 

“For what?” Thomas asked. 

“To be let in on the betting pool.” 

“What betting pool?” Thomas asked, annoyed that he had to worm every word out of them.

“The one concerning Minho and Newt.” 

The Newbie groaned. “And _why_ is it concerning them?”

Jeff, Winston and Gally exchanged a very long, very meaningful glance. 

A lightbulb turned on in Thomas’ head. “You mean… _them_? No fucking way!” 

Gally’s glance was almost pitiful. “Oh, honey.”, he said, his words dripping with sarcasm as if they were the substance he was talking about. 

“Nah. Come _on_. They’re always fighting and sassing. _They’re not fucking in love._ ” 

The others just looked at him.

* * *

 

A loud, throaty groan of pain, followed by a “AWWWWWWWWW FUCKING SHIT!” was the first thing Newt heard when he pushed open the door to the other rehearsal room the organisation of the festival they were supposed to be playing at had made available for them. 

Minho’s fists were clenched around the drum sticks, and Newt could see dark red blood trickling down the wooden bar, a single drop splashing on the drum kit. 

“You’re a bloody idiot!” Newt traversed the room with a few quick steps.

Minho actually had the balls to give him a smile. “’Bloody’ is quite the right word, man.” 

The Brit looked like he felt the mighty need to break the sticks on the drummer’s head. Instead, he pulled up a stool next to him.

The drum sticks trembled slightly between Minho’s bloodstained fingers. He looked up and met Newt’s worried glance. 

It was enough to make him put down the batons, the bright red liquid leaving smeared stains on the white skin of the drums. 

Newt could now see the full extent of the damage. Minho’s hands bled from numerous cuts. Bruises showed exactly where the drum sticks had maltreated the palm. A few plasters poorly hid the worst from Newt’s eyes, but even they were soaked and already flaking off, slipping off the wet skin. 

“You’re absolutely insane.” Newt spoke out what his friend knew he was thinking. Minho was a perfectionist with stubbornness issues, and that stood in his way as often as it helped him. 

“We’re _headlining_ tonight.” Minho replied anxiously. He didn’t even bother to pretend he was cool with it like he always did in band meetings. Newt had caught him working himself bruised and bloody, and it wasn’t the first time. He hardly thought he could become even more exposed or vulnerable. 

“And you won’t be much of much use if your hands are screwed.” 

Newt reached past Minho and picked up Jeff’s collection of band-aids and bandages to put them on his lap. 

He then stretched out a hand, looking expectantly at the drummer. Minho returned the look for a few seconds before averting his glance and placing his right hand in Newt’s, palm upwards. 

His fellow bandmate carefully picked off the used band-aids from Minho’s skin, until the drummer hissed loudly, unable to supress the noise. 

Newt immediately stopped and looked up. “Should I get Jeff to do this?” 

Minho, biting his lip, shook his head vigorously. “Don’t. You’re the only who knows that I’m…overworking myself.” 

Newt shook his head. “Next time, I’ll just handcuff you.”

Minho laughed a little, his breath tickling over his friend’s skin. 

Newt was being serious though. “I mean it. To prevent you from harming yourself. Perfectionism won’t help you if you keep going like this.” 

He almost expected sarcasm, but Minho just inhaled sharply, too caught up in his pain to spill out sassy remarks. 

In silence, Newt kept working, detached band-aids, wiped blood away and skilfully enveloped Minho’s hands in bandages, until it actually seemed almost professional. 

When he had finished, he looked up to meet Minho’s glance. 

“Just don’t get the idea to start a boxing match with those.” Newt smiled.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Certainly not. Even I have limits to my recklessness.” 

Newt laughed at the sarcasm. 

“…but thanks.” 

This time, his words were honest, his voice a little hoarse. 

Newt didn’t reply, didn’t have to. 

They sat there for a while in silence, his fingers now aimlessly trailing over Minho’s hands, until his bandmate stopped him by tangling their fingers together. 

Newt looked up, and Minho leaned in, just a bit. He didn’t break eye contact, wordlessly asking for permission. 

And Newt took the opportunity to extent his hands and put them on Minho’s chest, gently pushing him away. 

The drummer immediately backed off and stood up. 

“Minho-!” 

“It’s okay.” he interrupted him. 

“I don’t-!” 

“See you at the sound-check, Newt.” Minho went out of the room without another word or glance. 

Newt looked after him. 

_I don’t want you to kiss me just because you’re hurt and I’m here to take care of you._

* * *

 

A few hours later, Teresa and Aris were sitting on a picnic blanket on the festival site, the music swaying through the warm June air. 

“Do you realize that you’ve been wearing my hat basically all day long?” Teresa asked, swinging her arms like she didn’t have a care in the world. She was wearing jeans hot pants and a wide purple shirt with matching sneakers, sunglasses on the tip of her nose, looking like the poster child for any music festival ever. 

But Aris had snatched her straw-hat with the broad rim, which looked exceptionally good (or not) with his tank top, ruffled hair and filigree tattoos on his arms. 

“That’s hat’s totally awesome. Look if I put it like this” Aris corrected its position so that the hat sat horizontally on his head “it looks like I have some weird-ass UFO on my head.” 

Teresa laughed out loud. “Just admit you like wearing it.” 

“…yeah, okay, that’s somewhere in there too.” 

“Want some of my fries?” 

“I’m stealing your hat and you reward me with fries? I should do that more often.” He grabbed a handful.

For a few minutes, they peacefully sat side by side, listening to the music and eating greasy fries. 

“Can I finish them up?” Aris asked politely. 

“Give a man a fry, and he takes the whole batch, and your hat too.” Teresa chided playfully. 

As an answer, her best friend dipped a fry into the ketchup and ate it. 

Teresa lay back onto the blanket and crossed her arms behind her head. “This is nice.” 

Aris, as a response, ate the last fries, then proceeded to take off the hat, mimicking as if it was flying around, and make loud, obnoxious alien noises (which meant, every sound he could come up with, from mooing over clicking his tongue to something that reminded Teresa very remotely of the Star Trek theme). It ended with her UFO-hat ‘landing’ on her face. 

She propped herself up on her elbows, her hat sliding down her face. “You are truly amazing.” 

Aris returned the ironic smirk. “Come on, we should get up and to the stage. We don’t want to miss your boyfriend’s first headlining gig, do we?” 

He stood up and reached out a hand.

“Well, I don’t want to miss it. As for you, you just want to see that new bassist.” Teresa said, probably truthfully, and grabbed his hand. 

Aris shrugged – didn’t deny it – and pulled her up. 

“Thanks.” she said, propping the hat on his head again. 

“Come on, Teresa. You know you could never pull this hat off the way I do.” He struck a pose and winked at her. 

She just rolled her eyes, picked up the blanket and stuffed it in the rucksack the two of them were sharing. 

Aris almost fell over as she tossed the bag at him. “Your turn to carry it now!” 

He groaned, but threw it over his shoulder. Then, he held out a hand.

Teresa grabbed it, and their fingers laced through each other. 

She pulled him with her through the crowd, ruthlessly pushing people out of the way until she’d actually managed to get them almost to the front row. Aris just tried to keep up, clinging to the hat so it wouldn’t get lost and trying to keep the rucksack with him. 

The crowd was boiling with anticipation. Claps and cries flared up just to ebb away just as fast again. The grip of Teresa’s hand around Aris’ tightened, and he turned around to laugh at her face. 

“What is it? Not the first time you see them perform!” he yelled over the noise. 

“But this is exciting!” she answered loudly and hugged him. 

“It is.” Aris said grumpily. The hug had folded the hat over his face, so that he only saw straw now, no matter where he looked. 

Uproar of yelling and clapping and Teresa’s grip disappearing completely told him the band had come on stage. 

He pushed up the rim of the hat. Teresa was the only quiet pole in a mass of moving, yelling bodies. She looked up to the stage with a little proud, affectionate smile. 

Gally just gave a wide wave, but his eyes were scanning the crowd attentively, looking for a mob of black hair and ice-blue eyes.

Teresa’s best friend took matters into his own hands, formed a funnel with his hands and yelled with all his might: “I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE BANGING MY BEST FRIEND!” 

He earned a lot of weird glances from the people around him, plus Teresa hitting him with her own hat, but it worked. Gally’s head snapped over to him, rolling his eyes at him. 

But then, he returned Teresa’s smile just as affectionately, and Aris looked away, satisfied, as a small blush coloured her cheeks.  

Minho started drumming, and Aris’ glance was automatically attracted to him. The Asian looked good, as usual, emerged in his element. His hands were wrapped in cool-looking bandages, for stylish reasons, Aris supposed, and his hair was, as usual, perfect. 

And still, Minho’s usual calmness – at least the one he always showcased on stage – seemed to be gone. Instead, even Aris could feel subliminal anger, almost rage, in the way he drummed. If glances could kill, the drum kit would probably have dropped dead by now. 

The raw energy being almost too much, Aris averted his glance, let it wander over Newt, who  slithered over the stage, microphone in hand, as if he’d been born to do so, until Aris’ eyes settled on the new bassist. 

_Huh._

Gally’s scarce descriptions had omitted how cute that guy was. 

Visibly less at ease than his three band colleagues, Thomas kept up very well. His bass-lines were faultless, and optical, he fit in very well with the rest of the band. By which, of course, Aris meant that a guy shouldn’t be allowed to look that adorable with messy brown hair and a well-fitting t-shirt which showed off the tattoos on his neck and arms, especially not with the additional bass. 

Seriously, fuck the bass player. 

* * *

 

“You just want to fuck the bass player.” Teresa said dry-wittedly as they stood waiting in front of the backdoor of the hotel the band was residing in. The sun had set long ago, but Aris still wore the straw hat with remarkable stubbornness. 

He had just unfolded his thoughts about Thomas to her, and her reaction was really not what he wanted it to be. 

“What do I hear there? Does our Newbie have his first groupie?” Winston had come to pick them up.

“He doesn’t.” Aris said indignantly as the roadie led them through a maze of corridors. 

Teresa made a sarcastic noise that sounded like she was disapproving of his words, and Winston grinned. 

Their teasing found an abrupt ending however as they turned around a corner into a gathering room and Teresa caught sight of Gally, who was sitting with Minho on a couple of couches, talking at a low volume. 

Winston and Aris had just time to exchange a knowing glance before Teresa was already in Gally’s arms and got spun around. 

Gally planted a long kiss on her lips before leaning his forehead against hers. “I’m so glad you came.” 

“You guys were great. If I was a real honest girlfriend, I’d tell you your fly was open the whole time, but I think it only pleased your female fans…to which I count, too.” 

The guitarist’s face dropped. “My _what_ was _what_?” 

Teresa laughed at him, and Minho discreetly gave her a fistbump.

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.” Aris said reassuringly. 

“Thanks, man. You are a true friend.” Gally waved at him, Teresa’s arms still around his waist. 

“Speaking of true friends – how’s Ben?” Aris asked with actual concern. He’d always liked Ben, who had been a pole of calmness and concentration in a crazy constellation.

Gally’s face darkened, and Teresa kissed him softly on the cheek. “He’s out of the hospital now. At home.” He sighed. “I miss having him around.” 

“Wow, you _do_ have feelings!” The four of them looked up to the stairs leading up into a rehearsal room, to which the gathering room was joint.  

Thomas was coming down, Jeff at his heels.

“I don’t like that surprised tone, Greenie.” Gally said, squinting up to the new arrival. 

His girlfriend elbowed him in the ribs and then went to meet the new band member. 

“Hi. I’m Teresa. Gally’s girlfriend.” 

Thomas shook the tendered hand. “My name’s Thomas. Just Thomas, not whatever they tell you.” 

“If you say so…Tom.” Teresa answered with a grin. 

Minho gave her the thumps-up.

Thomas sighed deeply. “Of course.” 

“The goof in the sun hat is my best friend, Aris.” Teresa added after a very intensive stare from said friend. 

“Fuck you, that hat still looks great on me.” the goof said. Teresa did have too much fun stepping on everyone’s toes. 

Gally looked as if he was about to say something along the lines of his girlfriend, but Thomas didn’t let him. “I like it.” 

“Thanks, man.” Aris said as they shook hands. 

Newt had come down the stairs, unheard and unseen. “What’s going on here?”

“Our Tommyboy meets his first groupie.” Winston told him with a broad grin, which caused Jeff and Gally to snort with laughter. 

Both Thomas’ and Aris’ cheeks coloured red, and Aris slapped Winston’s arm. “I’m nobody’s groupie, you moron!” 

Newt gave him one of his ravishing smiles. “Who knows what may still come?” 

Minho groaned from his seat, rolled his eyes and stood up. 

Well, that was new. Usually, Newt and Minho were a well attuned team in sarcastic remarks. 

“Your wisdom never ceases to amaze me.” Minho said as he walked up to the stairs, and the venom in his voice was very obviously directed at Newt. “I’m going to bed.” he added quietly, still piercing Newt with his look. 

Teresa asked Gally with a raise of her eyebrows what was going on here. He only shrugged. 

“But it’s not even midnight!” Thomas interjected. 

“Not in that mood.” Minho blocked off. 

But by now, Newt looked seriously pissed too. He narrowed his eyes. “Really? _Really?_ You’re letting it out on them??” 

“You’re having a problem with that?” Minho asked mockingly. 

Newt slowly shook his head. “You fucking idiot. If you have a problem with me, then bloody sort it out with me and don’t sulk around like a tiny baby!” 

Minho’s hand tightened around the railing. “Oh yes? You want to sort it out? _Here?_ ” He spun around, face not five inches away from Newt’s. “Gladly.” 

Newt however did not make one attempt to flinch, returning Minho’s ice-cold gaze with the same harshness. 

Thomas looked almost panicked at Gally, waiting for him to intervene, but the guitarist, plus Jeff and Winston, were paying very close attention to the drama on the stairs, and did not even think of barging in. 

“I’m listening.” Minho tempted, the sarcasm nearly substantial. 

Newt looked like ripping Minho’s head off. 

The silence stretched, and their intense glance never broke off. In fact, they managed to make everyone but themselves extremely uncomfortable. The tension was almost palpable. 

Gally had known them long enough to know Minho and Newt didn’t need words most of the time to communicate. That they could exchange two looks and be clear about things other people needed to talk half an hour about to be on the same page. 

But this was ridiculous. 

Finally, Minho sneered. “See? You can’t even do it yourself.” 

That was the coup de grâce. Newt clenched his fists and tilted his head in a way that would have had Aris running away loudly screaming if he’d been on the receiving end. 

The next thing Minho knew, Newt’s hands were on either side of his head and he felt lips harshly colliding with his. This kiss was probably the nicest way Newt had ever told him that he was a ‘bloody moron’. Also the only one that made his heart stutter like Gally when Teresa was flirting with him. 

Minho didn’t have his thoughts together again when Newt pulled away again, so he just stared dumbfounded at the singer. 

Newt raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, but I can. It’s really not hard.” he smiled sassily and walked down the stairs to let himself fall onto the couch next to Aris. 

Minho blinked a few times and opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by Jeff jumping to his feet, fists in the air, yelling loudly “I DID IT! YOU ALL OWE ME! I CALLED THIS!”.

Not even the combined force of Gally’s and Teresa’s death-glare made him shut up in time. By the time Jeff had realized what a terrible, terrible mistake he’d made, Minho and Newt had already exchanged one of their infamous glances and had come to the same conclusion. 

“You were betting on…this?” Minho asked, threat dormant in his voice, slowly walking down the stairs again. Newt’s own remark about the boxing match suddenly flashed through his mind again, and inappropriately, he had to grin.

Thomas spontaneously decided to take the first exit that came to his mind. 

“SAVE OUR SOULS!”  he yelled and ran out of the room. Teresa, Aris and Gally followed, more because they wanted to leave them alone than because of panic. Winston was on his way when he noticed Jeff just sitting there.

“You’re coming with us!” the roadie commanded. 

“But I want to see!” 

Winston slid his hand into Jeff’s and pulled him up. “If you could’ve shut your mouth, we could stay and watch!” 

Newt looked impressed at the door closing behind them. “Nice touch.” 

“I’m very good at keeping people in line.” Minho said with a faint smile. 

His friend growled. “Yeah. Sure.” 

Then, the silence was back. But it wasn’t loaded like the first time. Rather…fragile…as if the first wrong word could break something insecure between them. 

Minho finally opened his mouth. “You didn’t…you didn’t have to kiss me…just because you were angry. It’s just…I acted like an idiot. I don’t want to pressure you…into anything.” 

Newt rolled his eyes and stepped forward. He pecked a short, sweet kiss on Minho’s lips. “I didn’t kiss you because I was angry, but because I…wanted to.” The conclusion seemed to surprise him just as much as it did Minho. 

“And what changed since this afternoon?” Minho whispered. His self-confidence had gotten rather a dent, apparently. 

“Absolutely nothing.” Newt’s fingers brushed over Minho’s still bandaged hands. “I just don’t want you to kiss me because you’re hurt and I was the only one there.” 

It was Minho’s turn now to roll his eyes. “But it’s at least a bit of why I want to. You know about…that stuff.” Minho and words. Best couple ever. “And you’re still…there. Here. With me. Uhm – for me. What.” Wow. He should really overthink his life choices.

Newt seemed to think similarly, because he raised his eyebrows mockingly.

Minho decided to take the cheap way out. He leaned in and kissed Newt softly, the way he’d wanted to for a long, long time now. Newt smiled against his lips, feeling the tissue of Minho’s bandages scrape along his cheeks. 

* * *

 

“YES…at least, I think?” Jeff said in a hushed voice, just to be immediately shushed by his friends.

He, Winston, Gally and Teresa tried to spot something through the key hole, but it turned out this wasn’t the most amazing of all spying techniques. 

Meanwhile, Aris had already slipped Thomas his number and was eerily chatting with him, glad he never participated in this stupid betting pool.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
